


And the Heart is Hard to Translate

by rowofstars



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-07
Updated: 2011-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-18 02:35:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are all part of a fairytale, of sorts, about the heart, and what it wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the Heart is Hard to Translate

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this immediately after Snow Falls aired because I had FEELINGS.

There are things the curse cannot touch.

The woods are still the woods, dark and heavy, trails twisting into the shade of trees that seem too tall, too old, too undisturbed, yet it is the only place where that doesn’t leave her skin creeping and her nerves unsettled. She thinks maybe Henry’s fantasies are getting to her; they are something that’s too easy for her to want to believe in, still ever the lonely, confused girl shuttled from one foster home to the next.

She tucks her things into an antique dresser in Mary Margaret’s spare room, and goes for a run, needing the whip of the air against her face and a break from the mess in her mind. This is a town with too many enemies, too many wandering eyes, and she hasn’t decided yet why she is staying.

It is not for Henry.

Or the feeling that somehow there are answers in this town she hasn’t found in Baltimore, Albuquerque, or Boston.

She stops at a stone bridge over the river and checks the time on her iPod. As she turns, there is a noise, and she stops, turning back and then around again, eyes narrowing at the shadows closing in the trail. She thinks about the gun under the seat of her car, the knife slipped between the mattress and the bed frame in her borrowed room, the rosy flowered quilt pulled lower on that side to hide the hilt.

“The woods are no place for a proper princess.”

She jumps at the sound of the sheriff’s voice, and it seems to amuse him. “I’m not much of a princess,” she replies, giving him a wry smile and bending to check the laces on her shoes.

His eyebrows lift, but he wisely refrains from comment. She straightens and tilts her head, studying him and eyeing his uniform and badge with only a hint of disdain.  
“So what are you doing here all dressed up?” she asks, hands coming to rest at her hips.

He smiles slowly. “Looking for you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Snow can feel the ring on her finger even days later, the cold smooth metal, the weight of the stone, and it wasn’t anything she’d like, really. There is a resolve to put him and his strategic _merger_ out of her mind that should be unnecessary.

But he finds her again, sneaking out of the back door of a shop in a part of the city neither of them should be in for all sorts of reasons. For her there is the price on her head, or rather her carved out heart, and him because it is not the sort of place a prince should ever venture, but he doesn’t seem to be the sort to ever heed what he should do. Otherwise he wouldn’t keep finding her this way.

“Are you following me?” she asks, eyeing the small bottle of thick viscous green liquid before tucking it between her breasts.

His eyes follow her movements, momentarily distracted. Then he frowns as she flips up the hood of her cloak and stalks off into the milling street crowd. In a few long strides he catches up to her and takes her arm, pulling her into the shadow of an alley.

He smirks at the way she looks up at him. “How else am I supposed to find you if I don’t know where you are?”

She rolls her eyes and leans back against the stone wall, arms folded. “I don’t think it counts as you finding me if you already know where I am.”

He does not respond, instead openly eyeing the gap above the laces of her leather vest. “More fairy dust?” he asks, indicating the hidden bottle with a nod.

“No,” she snaps. Then she leans out of the darkened space, peering into the street to check for any sign of the Queen’s black knights.

“Poison, then?”

“No.” This time she glares.

“Don’t tell me it’s perfume,” he says, with a frown. “Something that vile looking would have you smelling like one of those trolls.”

She can’t help but smile at that, and he steps closer, leaning against the building to block her view of the street and keep her eyes on him.

She sighs. “If you must know, it’s supposed to make me invisible.”

He laughs. “Invisible?” She frowns at him. “And you believed that? You traded two gold coins and a ruby to three old ladies who refer to themselves as fairy godmothers, for a bottle of green goo that’s going to turn you invisible?”

He laughs some more, and her frown deepens to an outright scowl. “You know, I’m starting to think Charming fits you less and less.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The sheriff walks with her back to her car at the park’s entrance, leading her down a different trail that comes out closer to the road and takes less time, leaving her to wonder just how much these woods really are his territory.

“So why were you looking for me?” she asks finally.

He brushes back a stray curl from where it droops over his forehead, and she feels her fingers flex and stretch with a strange urge.

“Henry,” he replies. “He asked me to look after you.”

“Oh, did he?”

She smiles a little and leans against her car, still wondering how he fits in all of this, who Henry has decided he is. His demeanor befits a prince, perhaps, but the rough edges of his accent and the boyish, amused looks he gives her make her think rogue, a Robin Hood type, maybe, and she shakes her head abruptly, casting the thoughts away.

“And I thought it might be a good idea, given all the poor unsuspecting trees there are around here.”

She rolls her eyes. “Where would I be hiding the chainsaw?”

His eyes are wide and flick down and then up. “Fair point.”

She shifts her weight from one foot to another, unnerved at his appraisal of her. If he notices her sudden shift in expression, he does not acknowledge it.

The wind rushes past them, and she folds her arms against the chill. She bets Mary Margaret will want to fix her hot chocolate with cinnamon when she gets back.  
She shivers as some leaves go skittering by in another swift breeze, and there is that tingle again, making the hairs on her arms stand up in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature. She should have bought Henry a bus ticket.

When he shrugs off his leather jacket and moves to put it around her, she straightens and moves away, but he persists and soon its heaviness is wrapped over her shoulders, the scent of him catching in her nose in a not unpleasant way.

“You don’t strike me as the type who thinks she needs looking after,” he adds a moment later. “But I think you do.”

The last part is softer, lower, his accent thicker than she’s heard yet. She scoffs, but says nothing as he turns to get into his patrol car.

“She’s not the worst, you know,” he says over the roof of the car, and she knows he means the Mayor from just the look in his eye. “There are others.”

He does not elaborate, and she’s afraid to ask.

After he gets in and starts the car she remembers the jacket and moves to take it off, but he rolls down the passenger side window.

“Keep it,” he calls out, loud enough to be heard over the rumble of the engine and the wind as it picks up once more. “I know where to find you.”

She pulls her arms free of it anyway, and passes it through the window. He doesn’t reach out for it so it flops onto the vinyl seat.

“I don’t like debts,” she says, as if it’s enough of an explanation. “And I’m _not_ sorry about the tree.”

His smile stays with her even through her second cup of Mary Margaret’s cocoa.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They are a good distance into the woods, boots thumping heavily against the dirt as they slow and come to a stop, the sound of the horses and the Queen’s guards lost in the maze of trees. She can hear the rush of the water, the river she unceremoniously dumped him into, just a short distance off.

“This,” he starts, between panting breaths, “is getting to be a habit with you.”

She exhales and bends to slip the knife back into her boot. “I could say the same about you.”

He smiles, and it’s wide, amused, and entirely too familiar. She fixes him with a hard, suspicious stare.

“Every time _you_ show up, _they_ do.”

He laughs. “I still saved you. _Again._ ”

That’s a whole other habit she’s avoiding for the moment.

“Sorry about your potion, though,” he adds.

She picks idly at the sticky spot in her hair, wrinkling her nose at the smell. “At least now I know I can’t trust three crazy old maids who think they’re fairies.”

Sighing, Snow turns around and then again, casting glances up and down the trail, up into the tree tops, checking for any further signs of trouble, but also trying to get her bearings. There are parts of the woods she does not know well, despite her many days and nights on the run.

“If you follow the river north for a mile, you’ll find yourself back where I caught you,” he says, coming to stand behind her.

She swallows and breathes slowly, feeling the warmth of him even through the layers of leather and cloth wrapped over both of them. “Thanks.”

She feels him nod, sees the sharp tilt of his shadow, and then he moves away. His boots crunch the leaves as he stomps over them, turning to sit on the trunk of a large fallen tree.

“They’re liable to start coming after me now,” he says. “Guilt by association.”

She spins around on her heel and points a finger at him, smirking. “That’s your own fault.”

He smiles and nods in agreement.

“Maybe your lady love can get you out of the trouble I keep getting you in.” The amusement slips from her voice with each word.

He shakes his head. “I’m afraid our merger may be off the table.”

Her eyes widen and she breathes out a small _oh_ , averting her gaze abruptly.

“How sad for you,” she mutters.

He shrugs. “Who says I want to get out of trouble anyway?”

At that she turns back to face him, and his lips curl crookedly. Then he hops down from his seat and bows, mockingly. “I think I will take my leave now, milady.”

She rolls her eyes and waves a hand as she starts off into the trees, heading for the river to follow it back to her preferred hideout. “Let’s hope this is the last I see of you, Charming.”

“James,” he corrects, and it’s yet another habit. “And I’m sure it isn’t. I quite like the woods.”

Snow turns around, smiling and calling out to him. “That’s if you can find me!”

He leans against the nearest tree, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I’ll always find you.”

His voice is soft, but she still hears it, and turns to run.


End file.
